Suddenly, my dick becomes very, very interested in Sharon Witherstone. Yes, she may be about fifty pounds overweight, but in this instance, I’m leading with the head between my legs because like I said, we all have a trigger, and just like everyone else, I want to find my happily ever after. And at the moment, my HEA is bending Sharon over my desk and fucking her senseless.

I may be certified in solving other people’s problems, but not mine—I know I’m a lost cause. I’m an asshole, and each day I’m losing sight of who I am, and who I once was.

I’m not a total prick, however, and I make women just like Sharon Witherstone feel good, because sex without emotional ties is so much easier than…feeling.

Placing my notepad onto the armrest, I slowly stand and peer down at Sharon, giving her a smile which I know will disintegrate her panties in seconds. She raises her eyes, and I can see the confusion flicker behind her emerald orbs. But as her gaze descends down my hardened body, that confusion turns to…desire.

Her entire demeanor changes and out comes daddy’s little girl as she shifts in her seat, pushing out her chest daringly. It’s really too easy, but I prefer easy as opposed to working hard, putting your heart and soul on the line, only to find out your fiancée is sleeping with your best friend.

So this, this is much easier.

“Do you love your father?”

“No, I hate him,” she confesses in a seductive whisper, biting her lip.

“Oh? Would you be comfortable telling me why?” I take a seat near her on the leather sofa, ensuring our knees are only inches apart.

“Because he loves my stepmother more than me,” she replies, her lust-filled stare focusing on my lap, as my erection is no doubt poking through my pressed slacks.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tenderly coo. However, I don’t mean a single word. “That must be very hard on you.”

“Yes, it is. It is very hard.” She nods, and I feel a single finger slide deliberately up my thigh toward my crotch.

Opening my legs in welcome, I ask, “Is that what you think triggered your addiction?”

“What can I say, Dr. Mathews? When something delicious is in front of me, I just can’t say no,” she huskily purrs, her fingers dancing around my straining fly.

“Well, sometimes,” I whisper, “it’s okay to say yes.” I know, I’m going to hell.

And that’s all the trigger Ms. Witherstone needs as her head dives into my lap, her fingers fumbling with my zipper.

As her warm, hungry mouth wraps around my red-hot erection, I close my eyes in disgust. I’m disgusted at myself for using someone I have no intention of ever seeing again. But I never said I was the hero of this story, or even the good guy.

Who wants to be good, when it feels so good being bad?

2

Beauty Within

DIXON

Reaching for the jacket off the back of my high-backed leather seat, I try not to recoil when I see my paperwork slightly askew. Memories of Ms. Witherstone’s face pressed into my mahogany desktop while I fucked her from behind come flooding back, and I make a quick beeline for the exit before I throw up.

Locking my door, I see that my receptionist, Susanna, is still here.

“Ms. Vale, you should have left hours ago,” I reprimand¸ as it’s now 7:30 p.m.

“Oh, that’s okay. Leroy is out of town fishing with his buddies, so I don’t mind working late,” she replies with a nod, her gray hair bobbing with the motion.

Susanna Vale should have retired years ago, but she keeps telling me she’s not ready to hang up her boots just yet. Good help is hard to find, so I’m not going to argue with her.

“Well, make sure you note down how many extra hours you’ve worked, and I’ll ensure Nancy pays you.”

“Oh, Dr. Mathews,” she protests with a wave of her wrinkled hand, “don’t be silly. Who else is going to make sure you leave at a decent hour?”

I give her a small smile because it’s true. On more than one occasion, Susanna has sent me home at an ungodly hour, but I went home to what? I returned to my empty Manhattan condo, which reminded me too much of her. Even after twelve months, her presence, her essence, is still living in the walls.

Shaking aside those unwelcome memories, I play it cool, not wanting my nostalgia to show. “If only you were ten years younger,” I tease, finishing the sentence with a playful wink.

“Oh, you beast.” She shoos me out the door. “Go get something to eat…you skipped lunch.”

I blanch at her comment, as my lunch break was occupied with eating—just not food. With that heinous thought in mind, I quickly bid my assistant goodnight and catch the elevator down to the ground floor. I’m meeting my two best friends, Finch and Hunter, at a local bar around the corner. We were once a foursome, but that was a lifetime ago when I believed in loyalty and love.

“Here he is. Dr. Love has entered the building,” shouts Hunter from across the room, as I walk in.

His loud, obnoxious voice alerts me to where he sits, but of course I know where to find him, as he never leaves the bar.

“Holy fuck balls,” he loudly curses, narrowing his eyes. “You totally got laid today.” He raises his Budweiser in salute while Finch chuckles.

“How ’bout you shout a little louder? I don’t think our neighbors in New Jersey heard.” I slap the back of his head playfully.

Taking a seat near Finch, I raise my hand, alerting the pretty blonde behind the bar to my presence. She gives me a small wink while mixing a cocktail.

“So, who’s the lucky girl?” asks Finch, nudging me in the ribs with a sharp elbow.

“I don’t remember.” I snag his drink and take an unsatisfying sip. “Ugh, where’s the rum?” I cough, nearly gagging on the watered-down Coke.

Finch laughs while twirling his gold wedding band with a smile. “Gotta look after Gabriella in the morning. Heidi has some mothers’ club thing, so I’m on baby duty.”

I nod, because that’s what responsible parents do. They don’t go out with their single, man-whoring friend, who is looking to get drunk and drown his sorrows in a bottle of Jack jammed between the tits of some blonde barfly. That’s what a typical Friday night for me is like, but for Finch, who has been married for two years to the love of his life, Heidi, Friday night consists of one non-alcoholic drink with his best buddies before going home to his hot, loving wife and having amazing, freaky sex.

With that thought in mind, I reach past him and snatch up Hunter’s beer.

“You look like shit,” Hunter states, and as much as I love his honesty, I really am not in the mood.

But he presses, regardless of me clamming up. “It’s been a year, man.” He holds up a finger, just in case I didn’t hear him, but I got it, loud and clear.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” I object with a firm shake of my head, and quickly chug the contents of my stolen beer.

“We’re just worried about you,” Finch joins in, his gray eyes softening when he witnesses my emotional retreat.

“I’m fine,” I retort, really needing another drink.

I try to flag down the bartender, but the crowd has suddenly grown, and she’s attending to other thirsty patrons.

“Do you want your dick to fall off?” Hunter bluntly demands.

“Excuse me?” I ask, unable to wipe the smile from my face, amused by his melodramatics.

“You heard me.” He leans forward, his huge body invading Finch’s small frame.

“No, Hunter, I do not want my dick to fall off. Get to the point, already,” I reply, rolling my eyes.

“Well, that’s what’s gonna happen if you keep boning these random girls.”

“I seriously doubt that,” I scoff, but Finch nods, obviously agreeing with Hunter.